2014.03.26 - A Clockwork Eggplant
Yes, Spoiler is on the prowl. Which, in her own head, makes her think more of Catwoman than the Bat family. She doesn't know Catwoman, merely knows of her, but cats prowl, and bats glide high above. Sadly, Spoiler is not much of a glider, and so she is stuck with prowling. In particular, she's prowling in South Gotham, clinging to the fire escapes and rooftops, watching over the city like the guardian angel she wants to be. Or at least this particular neighborhood. Her father is not busy tonight - to her knowledge, his thugs have nothing on their plates, not since the drug operation they dismantled before she and Batwoman could get at it. She's watching out for the small-time fiends: muggers, carjackers, gang members stalking the innocent and unwary. Speaking of innocent and unwary, those words work pretty well for her, don't they. There's a wailing heard in the distance; a male one, heavy and full of grief. It is not a cry for help, or the sounds of a struggle, as might be expected. Were Spoiler to make her way over, she'd find a mostly barren street full of stoic buildings, empty beyond a white van with black tinted windows parked outside the entrance to the alley in question. Within is a man on his hands and knees, wearing a fine-tailored business suit. Brown leather gloves are on his hands, and he's gripping his black hair tightly. Blood covers him, and adjacent is the body of a woman; lifeless eyes staring towards the sky, stab wounds visible on the front of a once fine white dress. The remnants of a broken purse strap are in her hands. It seems to be recent, given the pool of blood beneath her is still slightly moving. But slowly... too slowly, to come from a still-beating heart. Spoiler is a hero, right? Of COURSE she makes her way across the rooftops to this sad and, admittedly, disturbing scene. Dead woman. Bloody man. No visible weapon, she observes from the rooftop, but that doesn't mean no weapon at all. The man seems... in the grips of emotional turmoil. Horror? Despair? She can't say from here. She hurriedly snaps a few pictures of the scene from her place atop the wall. This is the point, she will later observe, when she should have called out to her new allies. Why did Red Robin give her a family communicator if not for situations just like this? But she is not familiar with situations like this yet, and so she lowers herself to the ground, a moving shadow in the night, until she is behind the man, a few yards distant. And only then does she address him. She inserts gravel into her voice, trying to sound like Batman, and mostly sounding like a teenaged girl with a cold. "Sir. Are you alright?" Way to go, Steph. That may be the dumbest question ever asked in this alley. It doesn't appear that Spoiler is noticed, not until she speaks. It starts the figure, who turns to look at the hero with sad, green eyes; moistened with tears. He says only one thing. "Where were you?" It's quiet at first, but then he's shaking the girl next to her, as if it might jostle her back to the world of the living. "WHERE WERE YOU? WHERE WERE YOU SO-CALLED HEROES, WHEN SOME PETTY MUGGER KILLED MY WIFE?" The story seems to fit, given the fine dress. There's a few nice theatres in the area. They might have made the fatal mistake of going on a casual stroll afterwards. Batman might find it familiar... if only through coincidence. "She screamed, shouted. There's so many... so many of you masked fools!! But nobody came! NOBODY!" His glare is accusing now, nearly manic. "What use are you to the city, if you can't even save a single life?!" "Sir, stop!" says Spoiler, moving in closer, trying to separate him from the corpse of his (presumable) wife. The woman's beyond hope, but this man -- the poor man -- he's got to be traumatized. "Please, I'm sorry I wasn't nearby, but we can still track down whoever it was who did this to her!" Having been raised by a supervillain, a few bits and pieces are not quite fitting in her mind. Spoiler's usually good at listening to these parts of herself, but she doesn't usually need to come between man and corpse. In fact, she hasn't actually dealt with a murder case yet. The man is pulled away with some effort, still reaching bloodied hands for his wife. Then he just starts to laugh, reaching up a hand to grasp the side of his face. "Have... have you ever had just... a really bad day?" he asks, voice sounding strained. His neck is stiff, looking up towards Spoiler's pink frame. A grin is slowly creasing up his face. "A day that just... RUINS your life...?!" It's apparent the man is on the verge of a psychotic breakdown. "Will your justice bring back my wife? Will it fix what's broken in me? WILL IT?!" He surges forward, to grasp Spoiler by the shoulders tightly, as if desperate and clinging to some hint of sanity... It's aubergine, thank you very much. A darker shade of purple -- but, perhaps, in a certain light, it will look pink. Maybe. Strain in the man's voice is expected. His wife just died. Even a little mad laughter. And grabbing for her? That's not all that surprising. But that grin. That grin is disturbing as anything. And Spoiler is getting a bad feeling about this. She takes a step back and to the side, avoiding his grasping hands. "Sir, please calm down," she says. "We need to contact the authorities." And probably Red Robin. Because... Dear diary, I am so not trained for this. Fingers clench the ground, breath coming ragged. Shoulders remain stiff, but it's apparent he's trying to take deep breathes. "I'm... I'm sorry..." A great smear of red is upon his face. There's something genuine there, looking down at the woman beside. As if the man was confused, blinking and rubbing at his temple. "Do you... need a statement from me? What..." A long moment. "What happened?" There's blood all over the guy. Dear god. "The police will need a statement," says Spoiler. "We'll get them here as soon as we can. I promise." He's calming down. This is good. "For now, just tell me, did you see who did this?" She should be calling for back-up right now, but... is she supposed to do that when non-cape-types can see? And then his last words hit her. "I don't know what happened, sir," she says gently, taking a step closer to put a hand on his shoulder, trying to be reassuring. "What do you remember?" Hands slowly, feebly reach up to grasp Spoiler by the forearm. There's nothing hostile in the gesture but a need for comfort, head hanging down. It might bloody up her outfit a little, but they are probably made to wash. "I remember... blackness... the sudden view of a scorching summer. Was it summer...?" Spoiler's costume has had blood on it before -- the multitude of stitches holding it together could be seen as evidence of that. Spoiler is less worried about blood on her costume than the man who's grabbing for her. She allows him to take her arm, though. "Um. It's March," she replies. "So no... it hasn't been summer for awhile." Her eyes flick toward the corpse again, but most of her attention is on the living victim. Fingers dig in hard. There's a sudden, sharp prick. A needle, penetrating through the costume into flesh. A moment after his hands slump down, adjusting his wedding ring. A glint of something beneath it, well-hidden. "Oh. Did you mean right now... Hmm. I caught this girl. Drugged her. Dressed her up nice. Then dragged her into this alley. I've eyes, my little vigilante. Eyes everywhere. Peeking from the roofs with binoculars. You stand out in the dark, you know... so I killed her...!" A flick of the wrist follows, and a bloodied knife appears from a sleeve. "I stabbed her to death... and then..." Green eyes look to Spoiler. "You know the rest." Her forearm would throb where stung like a bee, but otherwise, she's not at all inhibited... outside a spreading feeling of weight and lethargy, slow but steady... Dear Diary: I am a stupid bitch. Behind the jet black of her mask, Spoiler's eyes widen in shock and horror, and she KNOWS who this man is. It doesn't take much -- even if he looks... well, more or less normal. Beyond the blood. And the psychopathy. Her free hand flashes to her ear, even as she can feel the poison -- whatever it is -- starting to spread through her. "The Joker! The Joker is in South Gotham! Help!" She pulls back hard, but doubtless the Joker can overpower a teenaged girl. He's certainly done it before. Spoiler's desperate. She's not fighting back. There's nothing physically imposing about the Joker; although he has a presence to him, one deep and ominous, like looking into shadows somehow deeper. He releases her, reaching up and digging fingers into his forehead. Slowly he tears off a rubber mask, showing the white face and hints of green locks beneath. Another peel removes the false hair and the rest, the Clown Prince of Crime now undeniably before her. She might hear the sound of the van outside the alley rasping doors open. Two large men, scarred and imposing, are marching in her direction. "I didn't like that act for some reason." Joker says, almost poutily. Last come off his gloves, discarding them to show bleached white hands. With a sigh, he stretches out, careless to the call. In no haste. Spoiler is not really what she claims, no, and right now she's scared out of her mind in large part because she IS a smart young woman. She tries to struggle against the men who grab hold of her, but she's not nearly as well trained as most of Batman's allies, and they are not going to have much trouble subduing her. Within moments she's caught, tossed in the van -- and probably trussed up in some fashion, knowing villains. She's trying to find a way out of this. But she knows full well that she's in trouble. If Spoiler was not currently feeling like she moved in slow motion, she might be able to put up a fight. But her acrobatics are stolen from her by the numbing poison he used, inch by inch paralyzing her. She might feel that he used Smilex; the muderous poison that forces a rictus grin in death. But that, at least, never happens. The two men are large and powerful, enough to hassle even someone like Nightwing or Batman for a minute in tandem. The sliding side door is yanked open and she's hurled in. Not bound. There's no need. In short order she'll be unable to move, and slowly passing out. Joker remains behind, with a large brush. He paints in blood on the wall. 'HELLO. I AM BORROWING MS. SPOILER FOR A BIT. I NEED TO DECIDE IF SHE IS ANY FUN. DON'T WORRY. I'LL GIVE HER BACK WHEN I AM DONE... IF SHE PASSES.' Flicking the paintbrush away, he then slowly maneuvers back to the van, slipping into the backseat. A hand reaches out to pat at Spoiler as she'd slowly pass out. His grin shines in the darkness of the back seat. "Don't worry. You'll be juuuuuust fine..." As she passes out, Spoiler's thoughts meander into nightmare. Her last conscious thought is: Dear Diary: Why couldn't it have been the Riddler? Time is strange. A sensation of bouncing around. Then Spoiler is lugged out of the van, and thrown into the trunk of another car. After a few moments, ignition. The new car drives along for another length of time, distantly aware through her drugged mind. At some point it stops beneath a bridge, just for a moment, for Spoiler to be taken out before it drives off again. A nearby grill is yanked open, and the scent of the sewer runs rank. Splash, splash, splash. At length she would feel her rump settling into a chair, wooden by the feel. Leather straps bind wrists and ankles down, before a weird cranking as a machinery is settled behind. It clamps down around her head, locking it in a forward position. She probably will come to while seeing padded extensions press into her eyelids, pulling them up, a second pair down, making it impossible not to see. Joker is smiling, back within his normal outfit of lined purple. "Welcome!! I don't believe we ever had the pleasure of meeting!!" He moves to take Spoiler's hand and try to shake it, bound though it might be. "Spoiler, huh? Are you named after part of a car? Did the rage of hearing Harry Potter dies send you over the edge into being a vigilante?! Hahaha!" When he moves away, a giant white projector screen is opposite... Those eye-openers are distinctly uncomfortable, and Spoiler wants to blink desperately -- not that this is possible under the current circumstances. She's terrified, and she strains against the bonds holding her in place, trying to breathe through her mouth to avoid the stink -- though honestly, the air doesn't taste much better than it smells. But she tries to put up a brave front. She's not sure if this is her best bet, but it's all she can think to do. When scared, fake it. Isn't that what they said in 'The Sound of Music'? 'When I fool the people I fear, I fool myself as well?' And if there's anybody who's a fool in Gotham it's the Joker. Or, Spoiler supposes, herself. "I'm supposed to provide the answers to puzzles before other people figure them out," she says, still making her voice raspy -- it sounds more authentic now, because being drugged does leave a girl a little parched. "I certainly know who you are. So, what, are we playing 'A Clockwork Eggplant' today?" "This is just a meet-and-greet. Relax. I'm not going to KILL you. You know me, but do you know my work? There's SO much misinformation out there. See?" There's the distinct click of an ancient slide projector, and there's a picture of Joker garroting a man in facepaint as others around them laugh. "I have fun time with my men!" A click, and a new picture. This one is of one being beaten by bats as Joker watches, smile, face spattered in blood. "Although sometimes they need to be disciplined." Click. A man in Smilex, dead in an alley. "Of course, recruitment is for life. Sometimes people change their minds. But joining the Harlequin of Crime is a lifetime subscription!" "It's a wonder more people aren't rushing to join your gang," Spoiler observes, starting to feel a little ill. "From the looks of it you have a better health care plan than Hobby Lobby." She can't feel too bad about his henchmen. Not really. They get themselves into this mess -- how stupid do you have to be not to recognize the low life expectancy of Joker's gang members? But even so, it's disturbing. Which, she knows is exactly what Joker had in mind. And she's sure he hasn't shown her the worst yet. "Hahaha!! You're a hoot." the Joker offers, appearing into view while clutching a flower in his pocket. He squirts clear liquid into her eyes; oh. Just lubricant. Far too much, but at least her eyes won't dry out. "Well, that's just the business side of... Whoops!" A picture of Harley and Joker in a passionate embrace. More scarring then most anything he could show. The slide is yanked away with a laugh and put into his pocket. "How'd that get in there?!" Click. "I also help with the homeless problem." This one is a series. A sandwich given to a downtrodden man, eyes alight. Click. Eating it. Click. Choking. Click. Dead. "Less a burden on society, AND keeps the morgues in business! Not to mention all the students who can study cadavers! Don't you support education?" Spoiler reacts as one might expect -- she tries to flinch away from the saline, but, of course, she can neither close her eyes nor turn her head away. She gets the full dose, which leaves her eyes stinging and tearing up -- but at least they're not drying out anymore. Her lips curl in disgust at the image of Harley and Joker. Harley, admittedly, is an attractive woman, but NOBODY needs to see that sort of thing. The homeless man series is far worse, though. The image of Joker and his girl going at it is at most grotesque. These images are just sad. More sad than horrifying, even. She says nothing, her own attempted levity and bravado failing her in the face of such poignancy. "Here's me breaking a man of his drug addicts." Joker is seen stabbing someone with a bottle of alcohol from behind, who seems surprised by the whole thing. "I guess it hurts the alcohol industry, but it's a VILE drug. Just BAD for you." Click. "Here I am outside the Chrystler building." Joker is wearing a hawaiian shirt and a tourist's camera, grinning and throwing a thumb's up at the camera. Not particularly sure how that's relevant. "Of course, prevention is key. These are all bad men." A few quick clicks. Some dead with Smilex, lips red and eyes nearly ruptured. Others horribly mutilated. Some in ways that defy description; vivisected, dissected, some with evidence of still being alive. He names them each off. "This one didn't laugh at my joke. This one served me a hamburger WITHOUT extra pickles. This one bumped me in the street, and *didn't apologize.*" Did he really murder these people for no reason than a momentary impulse of anger? "But enough about my current work. What's life without the fundamentals?" Suddenly, scrapbooks appear. Headlines of Joker's rampages. 12 dead. Smilex Gas kills 42. Serial Murders linked to Joker; 9 presumed dead. Amongst them, the same thing. Joker returned to Arkham. Joker escaped Arkham. An endless stream of murders, escapes, captures. For years, and years, and years. How many? He's clicking so fast, it's hard to say. But it has to be hundreds. The last picture is of Harley in her outfit, looking all sexy and blowing a kiss on a pile of broken bodies. "So!" Joker moves to stand in front of the projecter, squirting more saline at Spoiler's eyes. "Now you know me. This is my city, you know. But I don't know -you-. I only let vigilantes stay who *amuse* me. Do you think you will?" Spoiler is hardly surprised by the idea that Joker would kill people for no reason but a few pickles more. It is kind of his schtick. It's horrible, of course, but... it's also Gotham. One doesn't live in the city all their life without getting somewhat Jaded. And Cluemaster isn't precisely Joker's level of violent -- he's not even clinically insane -- but Spoiler has grown up in the house of a supervillain, started her quest for justice because of same supervillain. Such as he is. Dry eyes flick toward the Joker. She is not broken. There's anger in her eyes, and fear, but she's not screaming in horror or ranting about how she will stop his latest insane scheme. Instead the corner of her mouth turns ruefully upward. "Joker, I'm an eighteen-year-old girl whose martial arts training involves a couple classes at the Y trying to fight crime in -Gotham City-. What ISN'T amusing about that?" Slowly, Joker grins. Then smiles in earnestly. Before laughing heavily, seeming quite pleased. "I see. I SEE! You're capable of being fun. A mind that would break at something so mundane doesn't deserve to live here." A hand clamps atop her mask, tugging it playfully. "I wonder what you look like... are you cute?" He tries to peek through an eyehole, despite the fact there's nothing stopping him from just yanking it off all the way. Not that he's liable to recognize the girl, either way. You pass, for now. But I've got to keep up appearances." Two huge figures grasp Spoiler, before a spray of pink mist would be launched into her face. This one causes utter, complete vertigo; up is right, down is backwards, sideways is Tuesday. Only then would she be hauled down and thrown to the stinking ground of the sewer. "I'm sure the bat-folk are looking for you. I'll give them something to do." Knives appear in the two brute's hands. But they slash away at Spoiler's clothing, removing all of her costume outside her hood. Only then are her arms and legs binded together, and she's dragged over to a drainage pipe. There's a horrible, dull chattering deep within. "Show the girl." She'd be maneuvered to peer, and see countless chomping wind-up teeth, snapping with clacking force. A chain is then dragged over, hooked to Spoiler's wrist-bindings, before the Joker kicks her off to dangle over the pit, a good fifteen feet. Click. She descends an inch. "Boys, stay here and try to make it interesting." the Joker offers. Another click. Another inch. "I'll be off. We'll meet again, Spoiler. Maybe then I'll figure out the origin to your name..." He walks up a flight of metal stairs, door heard opening and thumping shut. Click. Disorienting attempts to look around would see two massive men, the same who hauled her into the van, just watching. One pulls the lever adjacent now and then. Click. Click. Each one an inch descent. Above her the winch can be seen, and more than enough chain to reach the bottom... where a sea of the Joker's signature teeth would slowly, surely, rip her to shreds. The vertigo would slowly wear off... although in naught but her undertrappings, she's probably lacking in weapons or options... Spoiler doesn't bother to respond to the question? Is she cute? Some would say so. Certainly, when her clothing is removed, she's got a fit teenaged body. She once again fights against her captors, but with vertigo, her legs are flailing and fists are swinging in the wrong directions half the time. She gets in a lucky shot that will black the eye of one of the thugs -- but that's the worst of the damage she manages. No, no weapons, nothing to use but her body. But she's used to having to improvise. As the vertigo wears off, she gets a better grip on her situation, which is already becoming dire. She lowers her head, regarding the pipe around her, and rather than trying to dodge the disgusting muck around her, she deliberately gathers as much of it on her feet as she can, twisting her ankles against each other to smear it around and make herself slippery -- trying to release herself from the bonds about her ankles. The intricate self-sliming is quite useful, actually. The rope was bound tight, but once soaked with residue best left unknown, wriggles and twitches would kick it down to the chomping teeth below. In about five seconds, it's nothing but fuzz. Those things definitely have a hell of a bite. "Hey." the thug with the black eye offers. "...Don't do that." Suddenly he holds back and keeps it. Spoiler would drop five feet before he stopped, now halfway to the deathtrap and her head two feet below the edge of the pit. That's going to make her options a little more difficult... "Hey," Spoiler mimics, making her voice deep and stupid. "Shut up, jerkface." She is not the acrobat that Nightwing is -- far from it -- but she's young and lithe, and, working carefully, she lifts her feet up, up, bracing her shoulders against the slimy wall of the tunnel. "God, I'm so gonna need a shower." She lifts her legs up over her head and grips the chain between them as best she's able. "Little help, guys? This isn't comfortable." This isn't exactly what the two thugs had planned. She's down to her skivvies, but still manages to brace herself up and wind her legs around the chain. After a moment of effort she finds purchase, and feels some slack in her wrist ropes. "Um." says the larger one. "I'm only supposed to do it one tug a minute." The second guy just shrugs. "You already pulled it way too hard." "...Joker's gonna be mad." Click. Another inch. The way things stand, Spoiler's legs are actually outside the pit -- since her head is only a couple of feet below the edge. So hey, the thugs can TRY to do something. "You could kick me back in," the teenager suggests helpfully as she twists the chain around one leg. "I mean, here I am, hanging all helpless, and you big, tough, strong men can't do anything to stop me from getting out? You better believe Joker's gonna be mad." She winds the chain around her leg twice more -- giving herself a little slack in the arm department. "Yeah." one of the larger men states, and moves to amble over to the side of the pit. Rather than try to kick her himself, he leans over to grasp the chain and give it a heavy shaking. Shake, rattle, shake. "Get back down. If you can't survive a deathtrap, you're no good." He's almost within striking distance, with the weight she's shifted to her arms... With a grunt of annoyance, he finally leans down, reaching for Spoiler's foot. Spoiler grins up at him behind her mask, her teeth clenched. Her foot lashes out toward the man's face, once, twice in rapid succession. "What the hell do you think I'm trying to do, you freaking lummox?!" The two blows strike true. He's got a heavy jaw. But he had been leaning forward, and his boot slips on a bit of sludge. It was likely not on purpose; not in the slightest. But he crashes to his knees and then goes tumbling down into the pit. He lands heavily amidst the teeth, and immediately begins screaming. Getting up and thrashing, countless bitemarks appear on him, tearing through cloth and flesh like nothing. In short order he loses his ability to stand, falling to hands and knees, then face down. The result... Stephanie should not look at the result. The second thug's eyes are wide, mouth agape. "...FUCK YOU!" He then yanks the chain's lever, and this time doesn't let go. Stephanie has only about ten seconds to get her hands free, and use that as leverage to leap to the side...! Now this... this could break Spoiler. But for the moment, she's too devoted to freeing herself to see what happened to the man below. She can hear it well enough, but she blocks it out, using her legs to yank herself up the chain and release her wrists from the hook to which they're attached. She lunges herself for the edge of the pipe and grabs on, not letting herself drop down to the teeth below. The moment that Spoiler lunges, the chain descends in a rapid coil, thumping amidst the chattering teeth. As she'd scramble to pull herself upwards, the heavy footsteps of the second thug are heard, face grim. He's large; well into six feet, and heavily muscled with multiple scars. A black eye. This is the one she got the lucky hit on. "You're going into the pit." he states simply, matter of factly. Although she'd have time to get to her feet, an attempted backhand in the direction of deathly, bloody teeth-pit is leveraged at her soon after! Rather than simply standing, Spoiler tucks into a roll toward the man who's swinging at her, going under his arm and off to one side. "Dude, here's some advice: find a boss who doesn't consider full dental to be knocking out your teeth with an oversized hammer." And while she's exhausted and aching and more than a little horrified by what happened to the man she kicked, she still needs to survive. And to survive, she needs to run. She races for the nearest entrance to the sewers -- he's big, sure, but big guys are usually slow. A pretty good idea. Spoiler's wearing soiled underwear, and it's obvious the tank-built guy is a superior physical fighter, on top of the fact a direct blow to his body is probably going to hurt her fists. With her discarded outfit on the opposite side, it's prudent to rush up the stairs to the same door that the Joker used. Swinging it open, a long access tunnel is seen, and some distance away is a ladder leading to a manhole, small bits of light shining through it. Grates are to either side, and electronic boxes and wires, but those are probably less improtant. The second thug is indeed slow, but after getting into the doorway, he pulls out a pistol; and begins firing down the hall. BANG. BANG. BANG! He's actually a better shot than one might give him credit for. There's not much to do for it but evade; twelve shots total are fired before it can be heard going *clack clack clack*, and he ejects the clip, pulling out another to slam home...! Spoiler zigs and zags when she hears the first bullet whiz by her ear. So close. And her wrists are still bound, to boot. But she ducks and weaves, crying out once as a bullet tugs at the curve of her hip. But she manages to stay on her feet, racing through the dark toward the manhole ladder ahead. At least she's hard to see in this tunnel. Not as much, though, as if she were wearing her costume. The ladder is slick, but not tall; someone six feet would have to hunch slightly to get through it. Clambering up at a good speed, with the full force and weight of her shoulder she'd manage to lift and slough aside the cover. But before she can fully get out, a few more shots are fired towards her legs. She's in an alley now, adjacent to the sidewalk; no longer in South Gotham. The rope on her wrists is simplistic -- after all, if she tried to untie it while dangling, she'd have fallen into the pit. It would only take some seconds to get off. The second thug can be heard thumping down the tunnel now, reloading a third time... Spoiler can hear him coming even now, but she is tired. Tired and freaking out. She pulls the rope off of her wrists and grabs hold of the manhole cover, lifting it over her head, and then bringing it down on the head of her pursuer as he pops out of the manhole. Second time in three days. She hopes she hasn't killed this one, too. Dropping the manhole cover, she touches the still-intact communicator beneath her mask and opens a line. "Red Robin? Spoiler. If you're not busy, I could really use a ride." She looks down at herself. "And bring a spare cape, if you could..." Category:Log